Scenes from the Lonely Place
by Blacktrillium
Summary: A series of short pieces, highlighting important, and not so important, random events from the lonely lives of our two favorite agents. All leading up to something good. Eventually. Hopefully.
1. Woven of Straw

_There is no time specification, nor are locations significant. Each takes place whenever and wherever your mind feels at ease._

* * *

Woven of Straw

"Did you know, Mulder, that there's something called a wastebasket on this lovely earth of ours?"

Mulder looked at the pile of sunflower shells sitting precariously on the corner of his desk. He waggled his eyebrows. "No, no, no, Scully, they're not wastebaskets. They're called waste bins, or trash bins, or trashcans, but I don't recall anything made to contain waste that's woven out of straw."

Scully snorted. "Remind me again why you can't get a date?"

"Ah, now, Scully, that's not fair."

"Fair is not my game," Scully said curtly. She pushed aside some papers to get at a memo. "We've got an appointment tonight with the astrophysicist."

Mulder sat up, folding his hands neatly in front of him. "That brings me to my second point."

Scully raised an eyebrow.

"I've got a prior engagement. I will not be able to accompany you on our appointment."

Scully's eyes widened in feigned disbelief. "A prior engagement, Mulder?"

Mulder nodded serenely.

"Uh huh. A date with your VCR doesn't count."

"Actually," Mulder said, slumping a little. "I've got a date with a person of the female sex."

Scully was caught by surprise. The cup of coffee she had been bringing to her lips slipped from her fingers and crashed onto the desktop, staining all her precious paperwork a dark, liquid brown.

"What?"

Mulder slumped a little more. "It's nothing, really, just, uh, a friendly dinner."

Ignoring the drip of hot coffee upon her pantyhosed knee, Scully continued to stare at Mulder with open incredulity.

"Really, Scully, just a friendly dinner. Nothing that big…" Mulder began to gather his things in a hurry: his tie hanging off the lamp, the shoelaces he'd been playing cat's cradle with by himself. He grabbed his briefcase, missed the handle, and lunged forward to catch the falling bag of sunflower seeds. Moving more awkwardly than a newborn foal, he snatched his jacket from the back of the chair, and, with everything else dangling from various pockets and limbs, ran out the door.

"Catch ya later, Scully," he threw breathlessly over his shoulder.

Scully sat frozen, jaws slack, listening to Mulder's footsteps and the ping of the elevator, the elevator that came and took her partner away. Why would he go on a date? Who was it with? Why would he go on a date with someone else when he had her, when he owned her, when she would do anything in the world, just to please him?

"It's not fair," she grumbled in a small voice, puerile, simple, unadulterated.

* * *

A/N: _Comments?_


	2. Self Help

Self Help

"Today you are a new man," Fox Mulder said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He straightened his jacket, tugged at his tie, and flashed a bright smile.

"Take control of your life, accept responsibility for your actions, and you will relish every day that you are alive," he chanted to himself as he made his way to the fish tank.

"Old habits are easy to break—_if_ you put your mind to it. Concentrate. Concentrate now, don't dump the fish food. _Scatter_ it. Scatter, scatter, slowly, here ya go, good morning, mmm-_mmm_, isn't that good…" Mulder capped the fish food and heaved a satisfied sigh. "Today I am a new man."

He straightened up and took a long look around his apartment. "Old habits are easy to break…" He eyed the cartons of Chinese takeout perched on and around his couch. "I will cook tonight!"

He folded the blanket he'd used the night before into a neat little square. "Clean clean clean, messes create a stuffy atmosphere, and your brain does _not_ work _properly_. Create a clear space around you…" He picked up the papers that had been left on the floor for the past few months.

The clock radio went off somewhere in the kitchen. "_A new day has come…_"

"A new day has come," Mulder said firmly to himself.

* * *

"Today I am a new man."

The car was at a standstill on the George Washington Memorial Parkway.

"Patience is a virtue. When angry, take a deep breath and count slowly to a hundred…four, five, six…"

Horns blared all around him. Mulder glanced at his watch. 8:23.

His finger began a slow tap against the steering wheel.

"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, I am a new man, I am a new man, I am a new man…"

* * *

"_Good_ morning, Scully!" Mulder called as he stepped through the doorway. Scully turned in surprise. He grinned broadly.

"Good night?" Scully asked, eyebrows raised.

"Perfect night!"

Scully nodded very slowly. "Good."

* * *

Mulder jiggled his leg up and down in suppressed excitement. The two of them have been sitting there all morning, reading files, filling out paperwork. Not a word had been exchanged. He couldn't wait anymore.

"Guess what, Scully?"

His partner looked up.

Mulder sat up straighter. His face glowed so much it was like a light bulb.

"What, Mulder?" Scully asked impatiently.

Mulder swung his arm up from behind the desk. A small pamphlet was clutched in his hand. His smile was so wide it almost split his face.

Scully took one look and began to laugh. "_You are a New Man_? Mulder, have you been reading that? Is that why you haven't complained all morning?" She continued to snicker. "You want me to call you Esther, too?"

Mulder looked hurt. "It's not funny, Scully, it really works." He continued earnestly, "I _am_ a new man. I'm cleaning up the mess at my place, getting rid of the porn, eating right—wanna see my arteries, Scully? I'm even being nice to people I don't think I like."

His words were met with a blank expression.

Mulder plowed on. "I'm thinking about writing letters of apology to all the people I've insulted. I'm beginning to learn the Bureau dance. And I'm going to paint the apartment a bright, lush, lavender."

Scully tried to arrange the most scathing face she could. She failed miserably. Her eyes crinkled merrily at the corners. "You're a moron."

Mulder's face fell. "Oh."

* * *

A/N: _Thanks for the reviews. What do you think about this one?_


	3. Lousy Bureau Dancing

Lousy Bureau Dancing

"I'm not going undercover again," Scully said with finality.

"What, you didn't enjoy it last time?"

Scully fingered the file in her lap. "This isn't even an X-File."

"I know. But you get to go on a date with a Hollywood movie star," Mulder said, eyes twinkling.

"Why are we always dancing around this subject?" Scully asked suddenly.

Mulder caught the basketball he'd been tossing around and looked at her. "What?"

"Dating."

"We don't." He stared at Scully curiously.

"Always. Since we started working together. All the time. Why?"

"What?"

Scully threw down the file. "Oh, come on, Mulder. We joke about it as if it's nothing, but you always manage to sound like my father."

"What?"

"So what if I have dinner now and then, huh?" Scully continued. "It's got nothing to do with you."

"How did we get into this?" Mulder asked, looking dazed.

"Ever since that time you left me alone with that astrophysicist, you've been sneaking behind my back with all sorts of girls. Don't deny it. I know what it means when honeyed voices leave messages on the machine."

Mulder opened his mouth.

"'Heey, _Fox_,'" Scully mimicked in a high voice. "'Whatcha doin' tonight?'" She batted her eyelashes for effect.

A grin spread slowly across Mulder's face. "I get it, Scully, you're jealous, aren't you? Wee littwle Scully-boo wants Muldie all to herself, doesn't she?"

Instead of taking the bait, Scully only sighed. "We're doing it again. Dancing around the subject." She stood up. "You know what? Forget it. I'm taking the assignment."

Mulder watched her leave. He heaved a long sigh of his own. _Why _are _we always dancing around the subject?_

* * *

A/N: _Hey guys, thank you for your comments. I know you're curious about the date, about what's going on. But keep in mind: everything is random. :-D_


	4. Encounter with the Brits

Encounter with the Brits

It was a cold October night. A Saturday. Many of the Oxford kids were gathered at their favorite clearing in the woods, dancing around a fire, telling ghost stories.

But not a certain brown-haired, hazel-eyed, tall, lanky guy majoring in psychology.

Three hazy shapes drifted down the deserted hallway. Someone had turned off the dorm lights, and the crescent moon outside cast an eerie, iridescent glow over the shadowy forms. They paused briefly before a window and huddled, whispering furiously. Then they continued on, finally coming to a stop before the only door with a light shining through the crack.

There were loud murmurings. Urgent. Chiding.

"Ah thought yeh knew how to do this," one whined.

"I do!" answered another indignantly.

The shape from which the second voice came from gave the distinct impression that it was fumbling with something over the doorknob.

"Hurry!" said a third voice.

After a few, long minutes, the three shapes stood back and nodded to each other.

"YAAAAAHHHH!" they shouted in unison as they crashed through the door.

Fox Mulder's butt rose a foot from the chair. His books crashed to the floor. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" he bellowed.

Three boys cast off their bed sheets and grinned widely at their enraged classmate.

"Wotcher, Mulder," said Ben, the one with mousy hair.

"Watcher yourself," Mulder replied, purposely saying the British term with a heavy American accent. He smiled despite himself.

"Now, Mulder," a second boy began. His name was Sam, and he was the proud bearer of the largest nose in the world. "Why aren't you out there with the others?"

"Why are you three in here?" Mulder answered with a question of his own. "What was that all about?"

"Hall'ween came a bit a early this year," Johnny explained, his smile making his ears stick out more.

Mulder shook his head and bent to pick up his work. "That's for sure. I didn't even know there were trolls around here."

"We were ghosts, hear?" Sam protested.

Mulder settled himself back at his desk.

"Yeh need a girl," Ben declared. The three of them arranged themselves on Mulder's bed.

"Yah. Tha's for sure," Sam agreed.

"How 'bout it, Mulder," Johnny joined in, scratching at his rabbit ears. "Quit being the serious one. Go out there and have some fun, give yourself a break, get pissed. 'S almost Hall'ween."

Mulder turned in his chair. "I don't see the three of you taking your advice."

Sam shook his head. "Nah. The girls don't like us, no ways."

"You don't try hard enough," Johnny said, and poked Sam in the ribs.

Ben stretched out and put his hands behind his head. "Ah don' see yeh runnin' after some lass, yerself."

"At least let us poor whelps play with the pinball machine," Johnny entreated.

"Be my guest."

"Yeh still need a girl," Ben tried again.

Mulder ignored him.

* * *

A/N: _Tee hee hee…There's reason even in chaos…_


	5. Microwave Woes

Microwave Woes

"I wish we could have a microwave in here," Scully said wistfully to the room at large.

"…Okay," Mulder commented, looking at her through his eyelashes.

"Why can't we have one in here, anyway?" Scully turned to Mulder, very businesslike.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "it's against Bureau policy."

Scully raised an eyebrow. To Mulder's surprise, it descended to its natural position without a remark from its owner.

"Your eyebrow didn't talk," he said ruefully.

"It's got a mind of its own, independent from mine," Scully answered, her thoughts far away. "I still wish we had a microwave."

Mulder watched the eyebrow. "Why?"

"I've got a craving for popcorn." She sighed despairingly. "There's a bag sitting in my desk drawer, shiny, compact, just begging to be popped. I can't stop thinking about it."

"Oh." Mulder's own eyebrows went up. "Why don't you go to the break room and pop it?"

"Because I'd have to go to the break room and pop it."

"Ohhh," said Mulder knowingly. "You'd like to have the freedom and convenience to pop your very own popcorn in the privacy of your office."

Scully's eyebrow shot up again. "Mulder, why are you so immature?"

"_I_'m immature?" Mulder gasped in shock.

"I'm going to bring in a microwave tomorrow," Scully said pensively, her previous inquiry forgotten.

"I thought your eyebrow had a mind of its own?"

"Oh, that. I crushed it."

* * *

A/N: _Thanks for the reviews…and sorry for the accent confusion…:-/_


	6. Condiments

Condiments

Scully watched Mulder, a look of profound disgust etched all over her face.

Her partner dribbled chocolate syrup over a plate of nachos with boyish glee.

"That's just sick," she said, staring at her own food, her appetite gone.

Mulder looked up. "Well, you had raspberry pecan dressing on your salad once."

"That was salad. Not cheese and fried corn chips."

"So?"

"Besides, I thought you were going to paint your apartment lavender."

"That was a phase," Mulder said, shrugging. "And it hasn't been brought up in almost three years."

He was met with a snort.

"Oh, and what about your bee pollen kick?" Mulder queried in return.

"That was a legitimate diet plan."

"You can't even _have_ bee pollen. Bees don't make pollen."

"Yes, but bees _get_ pollen."

"Pollen of the bees."

"Yup."

Mulder let the silence settle briefly before saying with an air of announcerish pomp, "Meanwhile, Agent Mulder goes back to his deliciously normal nachos."

"With chocolate syrup."

"You eat unbuttered popcorn."

"You put peanut butter on chicken."

"It's healthy."

"Not if it's an entire jar of peanut butter on four chicken quarters."

"Hey, look, a distraction," Mulder said suddenly, pointing over Scully's shoulder. She looked.

When she turned back—

"Mulder!" she cried furiously. "You put syrup in my soup!"

He was unable to respond, incapacitated by his all-consuming, raucous laughter.

Scully glared.

"I…can't…be_lieve_…you fell…for that…" Mulder finally choked out, wiping tears from his eyes.

"It's not funny, Mulder," Scully said stonily.

Still chuckling, Mulder reached across the table and picked up her spoon with a great flourish. "Would you care for a taste of that, Miss Scully?"

* * *

A/N: _Hmm…_


End file.
